


you're the only north star i would follow this far

by punkpixieprince



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Stardust AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1302601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpixieprince/pseuds/punkpixieprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eduardo is a star and everyone wants his heart. It gets more ridiculous from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're the only north star i would follow this far

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flyingthesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingthesky/gifts).



> This is incredibly (6 days) late, but I wrote Reili a present for White Day! Happy Late White Day, I love you a lot and stuff. (I ended up recasting most of people though, sorry.) LOOK THE BASIC PREMISE IS STILL FULFILLED, SO. And also HELL YEAH I titled a Stardust AU involving markwardo after [an owl city song about God](http://youtu.be/AaImtAdoicU). Who do you think I am. 
> 
> Plotwise, this fic is about 80% the book, and 20% the movie/shit I purposefully changed or made up. And if you're looking for nice setting description of all of the places mentioned, you should go reread _Stardust_ , because I'm a lazy asshole who can't write much more than stage directions and dialogue.

Mark had always been a special child.

A special child in Wall was always of great concern, as no one was ever especially special in Wall, being as it was strictly ordinary and dull, the outskirts and the protectors, wholly uninteresting. Special people were for and from Beyond the Wall, and to have a special person in Wall was only asking for trouble, or magic, both of which were generally frowned upon in polite company. 

Mark didn't care for this apparent rudeness, however, because he was largely uninterested in the opinions that others had of him. What mattered to Mark was that he was smarter than all of his classmates, uncaring as they were of such things like how lightning created fires, how Faraday motors worked, and how they could be used to power other, better machines. His mother fretted and his father stared, but Mark didn't care. Because he knew, despite the worried whispers and the pointed glances, that he was smarter than all the rest of Wall combined, and special though that may be, Mark found he preferred it that way.

To the badly disguised surprise of the citizens of Wall, Mark was entirely uninterested in Beyond the Wall, and hadn't ever even been to the market, intent as he was on his machines. Mark always rolled his eyes when people looked confused as he stressed his complete lack of fascination with Faerie; not everyone special went over the wall. There were different sorts of special, and Mark wasn't interested in magic.

Mark's machines were what made him special, at least in Mark's own eyes. While no one seemed receptive to his idea of massed produced machines that could connect people, do menial jobs, and overall make life easier (as well as make Mark rich and famous), he was determined to prove them all wrong.

Mark didn't care about the money, but it would nice to be known, and be proven right.

The problem was that Mark couldn't seem to get the things to work. He understood electricity; he'd read what he could from the carts of wandering salesmen. He knew about Michael Faraday and Georg Ohm's experiments and findings. But he still couldn't figure out how to _jump start_ his machines. He needed some sort of source, some heat or spark, and Mark couldn't manage to make enough energy for his machines to whir to life. 

He worked late into the night, as always, and still nothing happened. 

Frustrated, he walked outside of his family's barn, where he kept most of his machines and their parts, and flopped down into the grass. He scowled up into the night sky, willing the answer to come to him.

As he watched the heavens, a star fell. 

Mark blinked, staring as the flaming ball of heat and light sped towards the Earth. 

Specifically, towards the West. 

Mark tilted his head. An energetic spark, he thought. A huge source of energy and heat. 

He stood up and went to see his father.

***

Peter Thiel was the 81st Lord of Stormhold, and he was having a poor time of it.

To the unobservant eye, this would be because he was quite certainly on his deathbed, and while this was definitely contributing to his terrible mood, he was much more concerned by his three still-living sons surrounding him. 

Specifically, his concern was that two of them were still alive, and thus the succession of the Lordship of Stormhold was uncertain. Peter had successfully killed of all of his siblings by the time his father died; he didn't see why his hapless offspring couldn't give him the same courtesy. 

Children these days. He glared at them.

The twins stared back, one scowling, one nervous. Tyler had always been the scowling sort, and Cameron the nervous sort. They were both the noble sort, and had only really survived this long out of co-dependency, which wasn't going to serve them much further. 

Divya just stared back blankly, because he was shrewd, much shrewder than his brothers. Peter had no idea why he'd kept the twins alive; perhaps just to particularly irritate Peter. His scowl deepened. 

Peter toyed with the stone around his neck, a large topaz that that sparkled dimly in the starlight. He cocked his head, considering things. 

"Boys," he said finally, "help me to the window."

They quickly complied, scowls, nervousness, inscrutability and all, and Peter stared out into the night, still holding the topaz, which marked him as the Lord of Stormhold.

He held it aloft. And then threw it out the window.

Cameron gasped, but there was otherwise silence from the various lordlings and their father, as they watched the stone arc up, and up, and up. 

And then, when it was finally beyond their sight, a star fell.

"Whoever retrieves the topaz will be the Lord of Stormhold," Peter said, nonchalant, as his sons turned to stare at him once again. 

And, as they stared, he died.

Tyler sighed angrily. "That's just _like_ him, isn't it."

***

"Dad," Mark said without preamble, as he entered the house, "I need to go over the wall, to get a star."

Mark's father froze in the middle of carefully washing one of the dishes. Mark's mother slowly looked up from her book, and Mark's sisters stopped talking mid-conversation.

"Excuse me?" Mark's father asked finally.

"A star just fell, to the West beyond the wall. I need it for the Facebook machine, the power it contains—"

Mark's father sighed, effectively cutting him off. "Will you be back?"

Mark blinked. "Of course," he said. "I'll need to be." 

Mark's father raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with his mother, but otherwise said nothing. 

"How do you plan to get past the guards?" Randi asked curiously. Mark frowned.

"I suppose I could climb over it," he said slowly. "Or build something to help me over."

"Don't be ridiculous, you'll get yourself killed," said Mark's mother, who was always of the opinion that Mark's various contraptions were going to get him killed one of these days. Or at least in serious trouble. Though he usually did that by himself, no inventions necessary.

"Don't worry about it," Mark's father said, and Mark wasn't quite sure who he was directing that to, "I have just the thing."

Mark raised his eyebrows, but went to pack a bag anyway. When he'd gathered an appropriate amount of clothes and his mother had laden him down with an over-appropriate amount of food, he followed his father out the door.

They went down the path away from the village, to the wall itself, and towards the two guards currently on duty.

"Hullo, Bob, Stuart," Mark's father said.

"Hullo, Ed," Stuart said.

"Hi, Mark," Bob said, smiling at Mark. Mark nodded shortly. 

Ed patted Mark on the shoulder firmly. "Mark needs to go back," he said. 

"I need to get a st—" he started, but his father patted him firmly on the back again. Bob and Stuart were staring at Mark now, looking a little awed and fearful, which was the standard look of the citizens of Wall, where Mark was concerned. Mark rolled his eyes.

"I take it you know the stories?" Ed asked.

Stuart and Bob nodded in unison.

"Well, then," Ed said, pushing Mark forward a little. The guards scrambled back, Bob a bit faster than Stuart.

Mark rolled his eyes again, stepping forward through the Wall.

"Mark, wait," Edward said, and Mark paused at his father's tone of voice. "Take this." Mark turned around, and his father held out a small glass flower. "For luck," he said, and he was smiling a bit oddly. Mark cocked his head at the flower, but eventually he shrugged and tucked it in his bag.

"Bye, Dad," Mark said, turning around and shouldering his pack. "I'll see you later." He waved over his shoulder vaguely.

"Goodbye, son," Ed said softly.

"Bye Mark!" Bob shouted, waving frantically. "Good luck! We'll miss you!" Stuart cuffed him across the back of his head.

Mark ignored them and continued walking on Beyond the Wall, into Faerie.

***

Hundreds of miles away, far to the West, a tiny old witch was slowly and carefully laying out the intestines of stoat, caught for both it's food and knowledge.

Her wizened younger sisters were sleeping, but not for long, as she started to gasp, pointing and wheezing.

"What is it?" they asked, getting up slowly, shuffling towards her.

"Another one," she said triumphantly. "Another one has fallen."

"It's about time," her youngest sister snapped.

"Which one of us should go?" the middle sister asked.

"I found it," the witch said. "I should get to go." Her sisters muttered, but sighed and eventually nodded, and the witch carefully walked over to a small and cluttered cupboard, bringing out a dark box that, when opened, glowed dimly.

"The last of the heart," the youngest sister sighed sadly.

"Well then, it's good that a new one has fallen, isn't it?" she said, grabbing the glowing scrap out of the box and eating it eagerly.

"Bring it back," her middle sister commanded, a threat and a plea all at once.

"I will," the witch said, smiling in a cracked, nearby mirror at her once-again young and beautiful reflection. Her hair was sleek and black, her skin smooth, and her dark brown eyes free of cataracts and shining with an unholy determination. 

"Good luck, Christy," the youngest sister said.

"I don't need _luck_ ," Christy said, rolling her eyes as she left their cabin in search of a star.

***

Mark walked and walked and walked, past the empty fair grounds. He embarked upon a rough path that lead to the wood, pushing himself, determined to get to the star as fast as possible. Eventually, though, the fact that he'd started out in the middle of the night, after a long tear of attempting to get his machines to work, caught up with him.

He yawned and stumbled along for a few more steps, before sighing and collapsing against a tree, falling asleep almost immediately.

"...and I keep telling them that it'll be fine, but do they listen to me? Of course not, and they are generally unappreciative of my constant wit, and belittle my cooking, which, really, is uncalled for. I dare you to make something better on that ship of theirs, really."

Mark could smell something delicious, and he was suddenly and abruptly starving. He sat up, staring at the creature sitting across from him, leaning against his own tree. There was a small fire between them, with something that looked like stew boiling. The creature was small and covered in bright red hair.

"Hi!" he said cheerfully. "Mornin'."

"Ugh," Mark replied. The hairy creature nodded.

"Yup," he agreed. "Horrible friends, aren't they?" He leaned forward, scooping some of the stew into a bowl.

"What," Mark said flatly. 

"Breakfast!" the creature replied, handing the bowl to Mark. Mark blinked, staring at the creature, before shrugging and eating the stew.

It tasted… rather good, actually.

"This is okay," Mark said carefully. 

"Right?" the creature said. "Fuck those guys, honestly." 

"What are you?" Mark asked. 

The creature grinned. "I'm many things," he said. "Charming, sociable, a good friend, a great cook, a tinkerer, a traveller, an adventurer."

"Cute," Mark said dryly, finishing his stew.

"That too," the creature said. "You can call me Dustin, though."

"Dustin," Mark repeated. He paused for a moment. "Okay," he said finally.

"So what are _you_ , then?" Dustin asked.

"Mark," Mark said automatically. "I'm…" Mark didn't know how to define his machines to someone in Wall, let alone Beyond the Wall. He finally settled with, "from Wall."

"Ahhh," Dustin said knowingly. "So are you a lover, a madman, or a minstrel?"

"What?" Mark asked.

"Those are the people that come from Wall," Dustin said. "Lovers, to make their fortune and impress their lady love. Madmen, drawn to the magic. And minstrels, to ply their craft wherever they can."

"I'm none of those things," Mark said, scowling. "I'm looking for the star."

Dustin cocked his head. "There are many reasons to look for a star," he said. "I can't think of why someone from Wall would want one, though." 

"I need it to power a machine," Mark said. "So I can revolutionize the world."

Dustin grinned. "An inventor! We don't get very many of them," he said. "Too modern for us, inventors."

"Yeah," Mark muttered. Faerie seemed to have that in common with Wall. 

"Aw, cheer up, Marky Mark," Dustin said, and Mark glared at him. Dustin laughed brightly, hopping to his feet. "Well, come on then," he said. Mark got up cautiously. 

"Are you also going to find the star?" Mark asked suspiciously, but he followed him down the path.

"Nope," Dustin said. 

"Then why are you helping me?" Mark asked. 

Dustin shrugged. "Because I want to," he said.

"But why?" Mark asked.

"Weren't you paying attention?" Dustin asked him, turning around and dancing backwards, smiling at Mark. "Because that's what I am."

"Right," Mark said doubtfully, but he followed him, and they continued on through the woods.

***

The lordlings of Stormhold were uncomfortably riding together in a large black carriage drawn by four dark horses. Tyler was scowling out the window, Cameron was glancing nervously between Divya and Tyler, and Divya was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed.

"Nice day for a star chase," Cameron said.

"Shut up, Cameron," Divya said.

"We should have left separately," Tyler said. "What are we going to do when we all get there? A three-way duel?"

"That's assuming we all get there alive," Divya said. Cameron made a face.

"I hate all the killing and backstabbing," he said. "It's not sportsmanlike. We are _gentlemen_. Of Stormhold."

"Exactly," Tyler said. "It's the way things are done. Now shut up."

Cameron shut up, and they arrived at the inn at the bottom of the mountain that housed the Stormhold, which marked the outer reaches of their domain.

They stabled their horses and the carriage, and entered the inn for the night, carefully eyeing one another, and drinking from separate corked wine bottles. 

As Divya went up to his room, the chambermaid grinned at him, and he slowly grinned back.

She brought another bottle of wine with her, and Divya was sufficiently distracted that he didn't think to ask who had given her the bottle until after he'd taken a sip.

"Your brother," she said with a smile. "He said you needed to unwind more."

"Fuck," Divya said. "That little shit. I got played." 

A moment later, the chambermaid started to scream that Lord Divya was dead, and Lord Tyler had escaped into the night.

Lord Cameron sighed, put out by the whole ordeal. 

"We could have been _gentlemen_ about this."

***

Christy rode in a chariot of her own, but hers was pulled not by horses, but by twin Billy goats. (One goat had in technicality once been a boy _named_ Billy, but that had been close enough for her, really.)

She hurdled across the land, intent to reach the star soon, but something distracted her. There was a fire ahead of her on the road, a fire of a most peculiar purple colour.

A witchfire. 

Christy slowed her chariot to a stop, hopping down and absently charming her goats frozen. A strangely bright and large bird frantically tweeted from the door of the witch's caravan, and the witch looked up from where he was roasting a hare on a spit over the witchfire.

"Before you do anything," the witch said, all easy smiles but flickering eyes, "I would just like to say that you approached me."

"Yes," Christy agreed, "and you have my oath on the sisterhood to which we are both sworn that you shall not be harmed."

"I don't know about _sister_ hood," the witch said. "But I am a witch."

Christy snorted. "It's a traditional greeting," she said.

"Look," the witch said, "I'm not much of a traditional guy." Christy raised an eyebrow.

"Magic could do with a little updating, is all," the witch said. "It's the 19th century, for the Goddess' sake." He paused. "Rabbit?"

Christy frowned at him, but she _was_ getting hungry, and this witch was strange but ultimately harmless. Also, the less magic she had to do, the better. And she was a witch _queen_ ; she had no fear of hedgewitches.

"Alright," she said finally. "I can stop for a moment."

"Cool," the witch said, busying himself with cutting up the now-cooked hare and seasoning it with unmarked spices from a nearby pack. "Where are you headed to?"

"That is none of your concern," Christy said.

"Alright," the witch said easily. "Name?"

"Names have power," Christy said stiffly. 

"Yup," the witch said. "My name's Sean. Sean Parker."

"You're an idiot," Christy said, taking the piece of hare he handed her and eating it haughtily. 

"Really?" he asked. "What's your name, again?"

"Christy," Christy said, and then blinked. 

"That's better," the witch said, and this time when he smiled, it was less guileless and much more sharp. "Alright, Christy, what brings the most powerful witch queen out and about to muck with us lesser mortals?"

"A star," Christy said. "A star has fallen, and I am tasked with retrieving his heart for my sisters and I, so we can eat it and remain young, powerful, and immortal for centuries."

"A star's heart, huh?" Sean said. "Interesting."

"What did you do to me?" Christy asked, furious. 

"Limbus grass," Sean said. "Inventive, huh?"

"You have betrayed the hospitality of the sisterhood!"

"Nah," Sean said. "I'm no sister, sweetheart. But this star, that sounds interesting. There's a lot I could do in a couple of centuries."

"You shall not have it," Christy said, standing up. "You have betrayed my trust, and I will—"

"You can't do anything," Sean interrupted. "You gave me an oath, and I might not be traditional, but I'm not stupid, either."

"Yes," Christy hissed, and the caged bird let out another warning chirp. "I can not harm you, _Sean Parker_ , but you shall never have the star. You will never perceive, touch, or hear the star in any way from this moment forward, nor shall you remember this conversation or my presence. You are a traitor to our kind." She paused for a moment. "And your hair is stupid."

With that, Christy whirled away, in a storm of magic, anger, and the nervous bleats of goats.

Sean blinked, before looking down at two bowls of rabbit. 

"Was this for you?" he said, looking at the bird. The bird chirped at him, and he shrugged, before pausing and touching his hair. "Does my hair look okay?" The bird chirped again, louder this time, and Sean scowled. "No rabbit for you," he said spitefully, taking a large bite off of the plate in front of him.

He felt like there was something he was forgetting, but he dismissed the thought. Surely if it was important, he'd remember it later.

***

"...And that's when I said, Stephanie, sweetie, I don't think this is working out."

"I don't believe you," Mark said. "I don't think Stephanie even knew who you were."

"Well, true," Dustin said. "That might account for some of our problems." Suddenly, Dustin froze, looking around. "The path is gone."

Mark blinked, looking around, looking back, and the trees looked unfamiliar, and not at all like where they'd been. 

"Shit," Dustin said. "I'm sorry, man."

"What?" Mark snapped.

"We're in a Serewood," he said gloomily. "And we're gonna die."

"What the fuck," Mark said, because he hadn't signed up for this bullshit. As he spoke, a leaf fell on his arm. It _burned_.

"We can't run, and no magic I can do would do us any much good," Dustin said. "We need to find the path again."

"Well, it's just over there," Mark said, grabbing Dustin's arm. "Come on."

"What?" Dustin asked, but Mark was already running, and the trees were rustling above them, leaves falling.

"Ow, fuck, shit," Dustin said, but Mark bit his lips together and continued forward, because they just needed to go a little farther, a little more— _yes_ , they were there. Mark collapsed on the path, regretting his decision to wear his usual strapped sandals instead of boots more conducive to running. 

Dustin collapsed next to him groaning.

"Are you going to die?" Mark asked, annoyed. 

"I'll survive," Dustin said after a moment. "Probably."

Mark snorted. "Good," he said, sitting up. Dustin stayed on the ground for a couple more minutes, before groaning and sitting up as well. 

"How did you do that?" he asked.

"Do what."

"Find the path," Dustin said, gesturing. "You just _knew_."

"Yes," Mark said blankly. 

Dustin stared at him. "Which way are we supposed to go to get out?" 

"That way," Mark said, pointing down the path. 

"Which way do we go if we're going to the Debateable Hills?" Dustin asked. Mark pointed.

"The Grand Citadel of Her Ladyship Erica the All Bright?"

Mark pointed again. 

"Do you know who Lady Erica the All Bright _is_?" Dustin asked.

"No," he said. "Should I?"

Dustin shrugged. "Best not," he said, nonchalant, but it still sounded ominous to Mark. "And your parents, they're both from Wall? Nothing… special about your family?"

Mark immediately scowled, standing up. "No."

Dustin stared at him for a moment, before sighing. "Alright, then," he said, and stood up as well. "Come on, we need to get you some new clothes."

Mark glanced down; his shirt and trousers were covered in holes and scratches from the leaves and branches. "Fine," he said, shrugging.

Dustin grinned, looking like his normal self again. "I'm gonna make you look _awesome_."

***

"I look ridiculous," Mark said.

"You look hot!" Dustin said.

Mark just stared at Dustin, and Dustin rolled his eyes. 

"Look, do you really care?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"I guess not," Mark said. "But I still look like a fool."

"Hey," Dustin said. "Fool is a perfectly respectable job title."

"I guess you would know," Mark muttered, under his breath.

"I heard that," Dustin said, but he sounded largely unoffended. "And I delight kings everywhere."

"Sure," Mark said. 

Dustin clapped his hands. "Now that that's over with," he said, indicating Mark's clothing from the nearby town, and the open field they were now situated in, far from the murderous forest. "Which way is your star again?"

Mark pointed. He didn't know how he kept _knowing_ these things, but he did. He tried not to overthink it.

"Do you know how long it'll take you to get there?" Dustin asked.

"Six months of hard travel by foot," Mark said, before he could stop himself. 

Dustin nodded. "Yeah, I figured." He fumbled in his pockets, clearly looking for something, before he brought out a small candle, clearly well-used. He looked at Mark, and smiled. "This took a lot of maneuvering to get, cost a fortune, too." He held it out to Mark.

Mark didn't know what was particularly special about a mostly-used candle, or why Dustin would give it to him, but he took it anyway. "What does it do?"

"It'll light the way," Dustin said. 

"Insightful," Mark said. "Got a less cryptic answer?"

"Yeah," Dustin said. "But it's more fun this way."

Mark stared down at the candle, waiting for something to happen.

"You actually have to _light_ it," Dustin said. "And walk fast, it's pretty low."

Mark glared at Dustin, fumbling in his new, ridiculous jacket pocket for his matchbox.

"You'll also need this," Dustin added, holding out a fine silver chain. 

"What's this for?" Mark asked wearily.

"You're gonna need it to bring back the star," Dustin said, smiling like he always did. Mark rolled his eyes and took the chain, staring challengingly at Dustin as he lit the candle and walked forward.

The field with Dustin vanished, replaced by a mountain. Mark walked forward again, and the mountain was gone, a river trickling by to his right. He quickened his pace, miles being eaten away beneath his feet, and the growing certainty of being _closer_ making him more and more determined. 

As he walked, he momentarily glimpsed a beautiful woman with long dark hair and dressed in red, riding a small chariot that bumped along the road, and at another pause, he could see a black carriage pulled by four horses, but he was always whisked away before he could look closer. Eventually, he arrived at another wide open field, and when he took a step forward, nothing changed.

The candle sputtered and died, a puddle of wax at the bottom of the container. 

Before Mark could think more than _well, shit_ , a frustrated yell from across the clearing startled him.

"Go _away_ ," a voice said. 

Mark walked towards the voice instead. 

"Get _out_ ," the voice said, and a stick came whistling out at Mark from behind a nearby tree. He ducked, warily remembering the Serewood, before he snorted.

"Mature," he said. 

"Shut up," the voice said miserably. "Leave me alone."

Mark thought about it. He _knew_ that the star was around here somewhere, but he couldn't narrow it down farther than that. This person might know something. 

"No," he said, edging around the tree. A young man sat there, half-curled around himself, wearing a blue collared shirt and dark slacks. His hair was wild, and his eyes were large and upset. The man glared at Mark, lunging for another stick and throwing at him.

"What is your _problem_?" Mark asked.

"I broke my leg," the man said. Mark pressed his lips together.

"Right," he said. "I'm looking for a star." The man glared at Mark.

"I broke my leg," he repeated, "when I _fell_." He grabbed at a clod of mud, and his arm shimmered as he moved.

"You're the star," Mark said. 

"And you're an asshole," the man said. Mark shrugged, because he'd heard that one before. And then he sighed, bending down to loop the chain Dustin gave him around the star's wrist.

"What the fuck," the star said.

Mark shrugged again. "I need you," he said. "I need the power source."

"Fuck off," the star said. "Whoever you are, and whatever you want me for, I will not help you, and I will do whatever I can to screw you over." 

"But I need you," Mark said blankly. 

"Too bad," the star said, crossing his arms.

Mark sighed, sitting down and leaning back to thunk his head against the tree. "Great."

His comment was met with stony silence. Mark thought about the six month long journey back to Wall, and his now-useless candle. 

It was going to be a long walk home.

***

When Mark woke up the next day, the star was gone.

"Well, that was predictable," he muttered to no one, though he did wonder how the hell the star had gotten away without any sort of help. Both the chain and the broken leg should have slowed him down, at the very least.

Mark sighed, leaning back against the tree again. He had no idea how he was going to get home, and his power source was a _person_. He was starting to regret ever venturing Beyond the Wall.

"Yes," a voice above him agreed. "You probably should have seen that coming." Mark glanced up, searching the branches of the tree for the owner of the voice, be it another small taking man, or maybe an elf or a small fairy. He wouldn't be surprised by much, at this point.

"I had a chain," Mark argued, even though he couldn't see anyone. "And his leg was broken."

"Every sort of chain can be broken, with the right sort of magic," the voice said dismissively. "Especially if the most free and innocent sort of magic happens to canter by."

Mark scowled. "That doesn't explain the leg," he pointed out to the unseen person. 

"Unicorns are occasionally known for giving a lift to those in need," the voice said. "And fallen stars are known for being in need, as a rule."

"A unicorn," Mark repeated. "A unicorn stole my star?"

"More accurately, I think your star escaped on a unicorn, but," the leaves of the tree rustled, "semantics."

Mark narrowed his eyes. "You're a tree."

"Yes," the voice said, sounding amused. "Obviously." Mark inched away from the tree slightly.

"Why are you talking to me?" Mark asked.

"Pan told me to," the tree said. "And because I don't think you're as much of an asshole as you seem."

Mark snorted. "Thanks."

The tree rustled again. "Pan told me to help you."

"How can a _tree_ help me?" 

"Well," the tree said. "Maybe if you told me your story, I could think of something."

Mark opened his mouth to tell the tree to fuck off, because he could feel the star moving farther and farther away, at the speed of what he could only assume was a cantering unicorn, but he paused. He didn't exactly have a plan, at this point, to recapture the star or even to just get back home, and so far, whenever someone hadn't been actively thwarting his plans or attempting to kill him, they'd been weirdly helpful. 

Finally, Mark shrugged. It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

So he leaned back, and, in a monotone voice, quickly summarized why he was in Faerie, how he'd thought the star would be a rock or crystal of some sort he could use to power his machines, how he'd met Dustin and how long it would take him to get home. 

"Well," said the tree finally. "You're in a bit of a pickle, aren't you." 

Mark shrugged.

"Generally, I wouldn't help you," the tree said, and Mark scowled, "but you're here, and no one else is, and the star is in grave danger. So I suppose I have to."

"Why should I care if the star is in danger?" Mark asked, crossing his arms. "Maybe I don't."

"I don't believe that," the tree said. Mark's frown deepened, because sure, Mark wasn't _totally_ heartless, and now that he knew that the star was a person, or at least person-shaped, he didn't actually want him to _die_ or anything. But still, he didn't think telling a random tree why he was in Faerie meant she _knew_ him, or something ridiculous like that. 

"Whatever," he said.

"Do you want my help, or not?" the tree asked, and Mark glared at nothing, because he was generally not good at asking for help, or taking other people's advice. But.

"Depends on what help you can give," Mark said finally. "I already know where the star is, so it's not like I can't find him again, eventually."

"That's if he's still alive," the tree said. "There are forces in this world that mean him harm, and worse than harm. If you want to protect this star, you must move fast." Before Mark could protest he didn't really want to _protect_ the star, the tree continued, "There is a shortcut through the woods, past that fir tree on the left. If you follow it you will arrive at a road. On the road there will be a carriage, and the driver can take you to where you need to go."

"How do you know that?" Mark asked.

"The trees can speak to each other faster than any animal can run," the tree said. "What one of us knows, the rest of us knows, through the roots and the wind and the brush of a branch."

"That sounds really useful," Mark said, mind churning. He wondered if he could incorporate that into his machines. 

"It has it's advantages," the tree said.

Mark stood up. "Thanks," he said awkwardly. "Uh, do you have a name?" he added.

The tree's branches rustled again; Mark wondered if she was laughing at him. "Yes," the tree said. "My name is Marylin."

"Mark," Mark said.

"I know," Marylin said, and Mark rolled his eyes.

"Thanks, Marylin," Mark said, only slightly insincere. 

"You're welcome, Mark," Marylin said. "Good luck!"

Mark was already hurrying down the path, but he still snorted. He was pretty sure that Luck didn't really have much sway, Beyond the Wall.

Even though Mark was practically running along the path, the tree's ominous words concerning the star echoing around his brain, he could see a black carriage ahead of him, and he knew he wasn't going to make it. He cursed as he made it to the road just as the carriage rolled past, pulled by four horses and not stopping. 

And then, without a single gust of wind or lightning strike or warning of any kind, a large branch fell on the path in front of the carriage, forcing it to stop abruptly. 

Mark smirked.

The driver had already climbed out of the carriage, complaining and tugging at the branch. Mark went over, and while he was largely useless in such things as moving fallen tree branches and using his upper body strength in general, four hands were better than two, and they eventually cleared the road. 

Mark asked for a ride, and the driver frowned. "I don't take passengers," he said.

Mark crossed his arms. "If it wasn't for me, you'd still be here."

The driver hesitated, looking Mark over critically, and while he clearly came up wanting, if his expression was anything to go by, he sighed.

"I suppose that _would_ be the gentlemanly thing to do."

Mark raised an eyebrow, but whatever. As long as it got him a ride.

"Sure," he said, climbing in the front next to the driver, as they readied to leave.

Mark glanced around himself as the horses carried them forward, and even though he knew that he was getting closer to the star, and they were going in the right direction, he couldn't help but frown nervously. The star was the type of person who attracted unicorns and was generally irritable, and had already given Mark no small amount of trouble, so who knew what sort of nonsense he'd get into on his own. 

Mark willed the horses to go faster, and blamed his anxiety on his own need for the power source. After all, a dead star couldn't help him at all.

Nevermind that Mark had no idea how a living star could help him.

***

Christy could feel the star coming towards her. She smiled, her power flexing around her. She relished the palpability of her abilities. Beauty and magic and youth, all returned to her at last. All she had to do was wait.

Christy disembarked from her chariot at the opening of the path through the mountains, the only pass for miles. She cocking her head at the billy goat and the Goat Formerly Known As Billy. She glanced back at her chariot and sighed. It was a fair piece of magic, but the star was so _close_ , so it wouldn't really matter.

In a moment, there was an inn near the mountain pass where none had stood before, with a sign that swung in the breeze that simply held the image of Christy's chariot. 

Next to Christy, in the place of the billy goat and the Goat Formerly Known As Billy stood an older man with a curled white chin beard, and a young, plain girl who looked just like Billy, before he'd become a goat.

"You," Christy said, pointing to the man, "are going to be my husband, the owner of this inn. And you are our daughter, the chambermaid," she added, to the Girl Who Had Been The Goat Formerly Known As Billy, henceforth known as Billy once more. 

The man and Billy stared at Christy, before shrugging and entering the inn. Christy sighed, self-consciously touching her now slightly graying hair and wrinkling skin, but eventually she narrowed her eyes, determined. 

She _would_ have the star's heart.

***

Mark felt that they were making good time, and even, perhaps, gaining on the star.

They were even following his path, which surprised Mark; he didn't know where the driver was going, and the driver himself seemed to be divining his path using runes, which he brought out at every crossroads. But every time he followed the path that Mark needed to go, and Mark remained silent and not-quite-grateful, but satisfied enough at their progress, and happy enough he would not have to continue on foot for a little while yet.

Mark would have been happy to continue their journey in silence, but eventually, the driver spoke.

"Where is it you are going?" he asked. "You have not announced your destination, only your need of a ride."

Mark frowned at him, not sure how much he could trust to this man. He had an air about him, of someone who had his own secrets, and of someone who caught up in matters bigger than himself. And now that Mark knew that the star was in danger, he felt reluctant to reveal the star's existence to more people than was necessary. 

"I'm in search of a man," Mark said finally. He opened his mouth, wondering if he should explain more, but didn't know what else he could say. Eventually, he scowled and shrugged.

The driver looked at him curiously, before nodding slowly. "I understand," he said. "Love can be fickle and pit us against those we should trust the most." 

Mark choked. "I don't _love_ him," he said. "I barely know him."

"Yet you have the look of one who is searching for the man he loves, though it is causing you pain," the driver said. "I know it well."

"Well, you've got it wrong," Mark said, not wanting to explain _I don't love him, I just needed him, but I didn't help him when_ he _needed help, and now he's gone and gotten himself in trouble, so I have to go save him because it's partially my fault_ , because if there was anything Mark hated more than needed help, it was admitting when he was wrong.

"Ah," said the driver. "Well, I apologise, then."

"What about you?" Mark asked pointedly.

"I am searching for my destiny," the driver said. Mark waited, but no other answer seemed forthcoming, so he sat back in his seat again. Eventually the carriage broke from the forest, and a range of mountains loomed into view. Mark stared at them intently, with a lack of anything else to do. He wished he could be home, working on his machines, and not worrying about stars and unicorns and talking trees.

The driver must have mistook his staring for awe, because he snorted and said, "Those mountains are nothing, compared to the mountain that holds my citadel and estate."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Are you a king of some sort?" he asked with no real curiosity. 

"I am a Lord," the driver answered. "A Lord of Stormhold, and soon, I hope to be _the_ Lord of Stormhold. That is what I seek," he added. "My rule."

"Huh," Mark said, not caring.

"My name is Cameron," the Lord of Stormhold added. 

Mark sighed. "Mark," he said. "Of Wall," he added, just to be contrary. He paused. "I thought you were looking for your boyfriend, or something." 

Lord Cameron expression darkened. "I'm afraid I shall find him in time, as well."

Mark stared at him, because he didn't sound particularly enthusiastic about the prospect, but he supposed that was what the whole 'love is terrible' spiel had been about, earlier. Mark didn't particularly care, as he had no desire to be in love. It seemed like a rather messy business, on the whole. 

As they neared the mountains, it started to rain and grew more and more impossible to see. Mark hunched into himself, as his curls flattened against his head and the rain soaked through his new coat. He squinted, because he was sure he had just seen a light, flickering ahead in the distance.

"There's a light," Mark said. Cameron blinked.

"You're right," he said, sounding surprised. "Was that there a moment ago?"

"Does it matter?" Mark asked. "It's cold, and there's a light."

Cameron smiled. "And where there's a light by the road, there's almost assuredly an inn." He glanced up at the increasingly terrible weather. "How convenient!" 

Mark frowned. Yeah.

Convenient.

***

Eduardo hated Earth.

It had seemed a nice enough place, from far away; humans had always been amusing and sympathetic enough creatures, scurrying about and doing grand things in their tiny lives. They loved and fought and laughed and cried and Eduardo had been content to sit at the edge of the warm cloud that housed his siblings, watching with fascination.

But now, up close, it was harsh and huge and unfriendly, and the rain was pounded into his skin. He was cold for the first time in his life, and he felt it all the down to his core, which had always been blazing hot. The unicorn was the only creature he could trust, and even now he grew weary and sore of riding her, his leg aching with every step.

He rested his head against the unicorn's neck, wishing he could go home, and knowing he could not. 

The rain continued to pour down, harder and harder, until the unicorn stopped abruptly, and Eduardo looked up. Through the dark torrent and gloomy mist, he dimly saw a lantern glow. 

"Hello!" a woman called out. "Are you coming in, or will you just stay out there in the rain?"

"I'd love to come in," Eduardo answered. "But my leg's broken."

"You poor dear," the woman said. "Here, I'll have my husband carry you in. My daughter can take your… steed. She's a maiden still, so it should be no bother."

The unicorn snorted, backing up a few steps. Eduardo sighed and patted her neck. She had been a huge help, freeing him from that nasty man with the silver chain, but he couldn't stay with her forever.

"It'll be fine," Eduardo promised, as a man with a white beard walked over and helped him down. He didn't say much, the white-bearded man, and neither did the dull-faced girl who guided the unicorn away. The unicorn kept balking nervously, and Eduardo felt bad for her, but he felt even more sorry for himself.

The man carrying Eduardo set him down in a small, cozy room, and left just as his wife entered. She was a short, pretty woman, and she looked quite young despite the few streaks of grey in her hair. 

"Why don't we get you out of those wet clothes?" she asked, before neatly stripping Eduardo of his shirt and trousers, until all he was left with was a twinkling topaz on a chain around his neck. He felt slightly self-conscious, because he'd watched enough humans over the years to know what they did when they were naked and fully grown. The woman seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because she looked him up and down, smirking. 

"Why don't I draw you a bath?" she asked, gesturing at a tin tub near the fireplace. "How do you like your water?" 

"I don't know," Eduardo said warily. "I've never had a bath, before."

"Never?" the woman looked astonished and sympathetic. "Well, then, I suppose a nice warm bath will be heavenly." Eduardo winced at her word choice. _Not likely_ , he thought gloomily. 

The woman helped Eduardo up and into the tub, careful of his leg. Her hands lingered on his chest, sliding slowly across his torso before resting on his arm. 

The water was startlingly hot, after the cold rain outside, and a little piece of Eduardo's core felt slightly more at home. Even if it wasn't quite heavenly, he sighed, relaxing into the tub. 

"How are you feeling?" the woman asked, looking directly at Eduardo. 

"Much better, thank you," Eduardo said. What a lovely lady.

"Wonderful, wonderful," the woman said, tracing her fingers across his chest again. Eduardo didn't really know how to respond, so he lay there quietly. Maybe she would explain in a moment. 

"And how is your heart?" she asked instead. Eduardo tilted his head slightly, for it was an odd question. But the woman looked so sincere and thoughtful, like she genuinely cared for Eduardo.

"It's better," he said. "Happier."

"Good," she breathed. "That's good. Let's get it burning brightly, shall we?"

Eduardo smiled. "I'm sure it will, under your care," he said sincerely.

The woman leaned in to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "What a nice young man," she said. "I'll leave you for awhile to have a nice soak, and set your clothes out to dry. Just yell when you'd like to get out." She went to the door, but paused to turn and smile at Eduardo. "What a lovely heart," she said. Eduardo smiled back.

He supposed Earth wasn't that bad, if all people were as nice as this.

Eventually, Eduardo was helped out of the bath by the woman and her silent daughter, and carefully bundled up in a warm robe. The woman helped him hobble over to a dining table outside of his room, where an interesting set of knives glistened in the light of the roaring hearth. Eduardo supposed they must be having a special sort of mutton, or whatever it was humans ate. He'd tried to explain to the woman that he didn't need to eat, not really, but she had chuckled at him and said it could only help. Eduardo supposed that could be true. 

He had just settled down at the table when a commanding voice from outside yelled for the stable boy and some food. The woman looked up, startled, and her husband and daughter didn't move, electing instead to simply stare at her.

The woman glanced at Eduardo, before sighing. "I suppose you're not going anywhere, with this storm and that leg of yours."

"It's lovely here, thank you," Eduardo said. "Your hospitality has been wonderful, and I'm sure your other guests would welcome it as well."

"Yes," said the woman. "I'm sure they will."

***

Mark knew, as he was starting to grow used to knowing such things, that the star was very close by. Cameron was chattering at the innkeeper, asking for food and a couple of rooms for them, and Mark silently took the leads of the horses and brought them to the barn. He was fairly good with horses, growing up on a farm, much better than he was with people.

Also, Mark hadn't really thought through what he was going to say to the star when he saw him, and he was suddenly reluctant to see the star again. He knew he had been rude, and normally he didn't care about being rude to people, but he needed this star, and he also needed to apologise. Mark wasn't very accustomed to apologising. 

_Look_ , Mark thought about saying as he carefully brushed down the horses, _I chained you up and I shouldn't have. So, sorry._

That didn't sound very impressive, even to his own mental ears. Mark sighed and was recomposing his thoughts when a silent girl carrying a tray of food and drink slipped into the barn and left the tray on the ground when Mark just waved vaguely at her, still trying to think of a way to get the star to forgive him, and then come back with him to Wall. 

Mark was almost finished with the horses when the horse from a nearby stall whinnied loudly and kicked down it's stable door, storming out into the barn. Mark froze, staring at the white beast in front of him. 

The horse bent it's head and that's when Mark realised it wasn't a horse at all, but a unicorn. The unicorn's horn touched the neglected wineglass, and it bubbled and fizzed.

Mark blinked, before he remembered the legend that said unicorn horns could protect against poison.

Mark was running for the inn before he could fully process the implications of that thought, fumbling in his pocket for the bit of wax that had been the puddle at the bottom of the magical candle. 

"Cameron!" he yelled, slamming the door open, "the food's poisoned!" 

There was a short woman standing near Cameron, with a look of utter rage and hatred on her face. And before Mark could take another breath, she had risen her hand, holding a wicked-looking black knife, and slit Cameron's throat.

"Get the brat," she snarled, and the innkeeper and girl who had brought him the poisoned food ran towards Mark. Mark ducked out of the way, rolling under the table, and in that moment, the unicorn crashed into the inn.

There was yelling and chaos, and the woman was shouting commands, but all Mark could focus on was the wax in his hand that he was frantically reworking around a string from his stupid fancy coat.

He looked up briefly, into the eyes of the star, who had also taken refuge under the table.

"What's going on?" the star whispered, eyes wide. He looked sort of like a scared woodland creature, when he did that. Mark wondered if all stars had eyes that looked too large for their faces. 

"No idea," Mark said, smoothing the wax in his hand as a crashing sounded and someone screamed. It sounded oddly like a goat bleating. 

Finally, finally, it seemed halfway usable. 

"Alright," Mark said, dragging the star out from under the table with him, despite the star's hissed protests. The innkeeper was lying in a bloody heap on the ground, apparently gored by the unicorn's horn. The innkeeper's wife held her bloody knife, and she struck out at the unicorn, spearing it through the eye. The star gasped slightly, and Mark winced, knowing the innocence and purity of such a being deserved more than such a violent death.

The woman turned on Mark and the star, her eyes wide and homicidal. 

"I need you to stand up," Mark said to the star.

"I can't," the star said.

"You have to," Mark insisted, tugging on his arm. "It's walk or die."

"Oh, there's no choice here," the woman snapped. "You'll both die. The heart of a scared little star is not nearly as good as that of a happy star, but it'll have to do."

"Jesus," the star said. "You're insane."

"You need to stand _up_ ," Mark said. The star glanced between Mark and the woman, before taking a deep breath and wobbling to his face with a pained wince.

Mark nodded at him, before he stuck the candle in the fire behind them, and gritted out, " _walk_!" And, with the star leaning heavily against Mark, they both took a step forward, the star crying out from the pain in his leg, and Mark white-lipped against the pain in his hand.

And around them, the inn vanished.

They were in a dark cavern, and Mark urged the shuddering star onwards, another step, and they were in a desert, with the wind whipping high, and another step, and they were high above the ground, far above the mountains and even the clouds, and that was when the last of the wax, melting and burning Mark's hand, sputtered out for the final time.

***

Lord Tyler of Stormhold, seated upon a regal-looking horse, was riding along the path through the mountains, following his brother's trail. The light of dawn illuminated his way, the sudden storm from the night before finally clearing.

Eventually, Lord Tyler came across a small overturned chariot, next to the bodies of a dead goat who had been speared through the temple, and a young, uninteresting-looking man who had a dull bruise that Tyler didn't care to identify the cause of. He rose an eyebrow, snorting, and he was about to remount his horse when he saw a pair of boots sticking out from behind a boulder.

A pair of very familiar boots.

Tyler walked over to the boulder, and leaned against it to stare at his dead brother's body, identical to his own.

He sighed quietly. "Goddamnit, Cam," he said. "You went and got yourself killed by someone who isn't me." He stood there for a moment, scrubbing a hand over his face and leaning back to look up, frustrated. "I take that personally." 

Behind him, and a little sideways, a swipe to the left into the not-quite-there, the ghost of Cameron shrugged apologetically. The ghost of Divya punched Cameron in the arm.

"No one gets to kill my brothers except me," Tyler said, firmly. "It's tradition." He paused. "And unsportsmanlike, I suppose."

Cameron grinned, and Divya groaned. It sounded like the creak of a branch in the wind.

"I'll avenge you," Tyler promised.

"Thanks, Ty," Cameron said, sounding genuinely touched. Tyler heard the wind rustle far above him. 

"I can't believe I have to deal with your weirdness even when I'm dead," Divya muttered. To Tyler, it sounded as if the low buzzing of insects had momentarily risen in pitch. Cameron just ignored him.

***

"So," the star said.

"Yeah," Mark said.

"We're not dead," the star said. He seemed rather surprised by this.

"Astute observation," Mark said. "I suppose your next one will be 'we're on a cloud?'" They were, in fact, on a cloud, and Mark was trying not to think about that, because clouds, as a rule, did not hold up the weight of two taller, human-sized people. Not for long, at least.

"Shut up," the star said, before running a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "I don't suppose you planned what to do next?"

"Not really," Mark said. "My plan didn't really extend beyond 'don't get murdered by the evil lady'."

"I thought she was nice," the star said, before staring straight at Mark. "I seem to be a consistently poor judge of character."

Mark shifted slightly under his gaze. "Okay," he said finally.

The star continued to look at him for another moment. "You saved my life."

Mark glanced around them. "Sort of," he said.

"Why?" the star asked.

 _A tree told me to_ didn't sound appropriately reticent, so Mark said, "I wanted to apologise."

"Really?" the star asked. 

Mark looked away. "Yeah," he said stiffly.

There was a moment of silence, before the star said, "Well?" rather pointedly.

Mark clenched his fists, and then hissed. He'd forgotten about his hand. "Ouch, shit."

"What's wrong?" the star asked, blinking and suddenly looking concerned. Mark raised his hand out of the cloud, where he'd unconsciously stuck it because the cloud was cool and wet and his hand was badly burned.

The star hissed in sympathy, reaching out to cup Mark's hand in his. "I'm sorry," he said.

Mark shrugged. "We lived, it's fine."

"For now, at least," the star said. "Clouds don't exist forever, I've seen them. And I won't survive another fall." He sighed. "I hated you, but then you saved me, and now we're stuck on this cloud with no way down, and I owe you a life-debt. I don't know whether to be grateful, or to hate you more." 

"I get that a lot," Mark said dryly, and the star blinked in surprise before snorting. 

"So you're this charming with everyone?" he asked.

"Pretty much," Mark said. "People usually don't talk to me, to be honest."

"If your version of making friends is chaining people up, I can't imagine why."

Mark shifted uncomfortably, and tried not to focus on how he sank into the cloud. "Sorry about that," he said finally. "I… shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry."

The star was silent for a second. "You should be," he said finally.

"Yeah," Mark said quietly.

The star sighed. "Eduardo," he said randomly.

"What?" Mark asked.

"My name is Eduardo," the star said. "I suppose, if we're going to be stuck together on this cloud together for the foreseeable future, you might as well know my name." Eduardo frowned. "As long as you're not planning on tying me up again." 

"I'm not," Mark said quickly. "I'm Mark," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. "Mark Zuckerberg," he added, for the first time. 

Eduardo quirked a smile at him. "Nice to meet you, Mark Zuckerberg." 

"Yeah," Mark said, and Eduardo chuckled.

"Wow," he said. "You really are that rude all the time."

"Shut up," Mark said without heat. "How's your leg?" he asked suddenly, remembering. Eduardo blinked, before moving his leg and wincing.

"It hurts," Eduardo said.

"Sorry," Mark said. He was apologising for a lot, lately. "For making you walk on it. I didn't have any other ideas."

"It's okay, I guess," Eduardo said slowly. "Since I'm still alive, and all."

They floated along for a little bit. 

"Maybe if we yell or something, someone will hear us," Eduardo said.

Mark raised an eyebrow at him. "Who, exactly?" 

"Well, it's better than doing nothing," Eduardo pointed out.

"We're going to die looking like idiots," Mark said, resigned. "Yelling on a cloud and falling out of the sky."

And that was when the sky pirates showed up.

***

"I'm Captain Chris Hughes of the _Harvard_ ," said Captain Chris Hughes of the _Harvard_. "And this is my first mate, Sean Eldridge."

Sean Eldridge waved. "The nice one," he added.

"I don't know any other Seans," Mark said.

"Sean is always the nice one," Captain Hughes said. "Regardless."

"Are you truly pirates?" Eduardo asked, glancing up at their flag.

"We're a free ship," Captain Hughes said. "We sail where we wish."

"So, yes," Mark said, unimpressed. 

"I have something for your leg," Sean said to Eduardo. "And for your hand," he nodded at Mark.

"Thank you," Eduardo said, nudging Mark. Mark shrugged, and Eduardo rolled his eyes. 

The other pirates were a cheery lot, waving and smiling as Sean and Mark helped Eduardo to Sean's cabin, where he carefully splinted Eduardo's leg and gave Mark a salve for his burn.

"Where are you two off to, then?" Sean asked, glancing at them as he helped set Eduardo's leg. Mark hoped that, despite the three days since Eduardo had broken it, and the various exploits he'd gone on since, Eduardo would be alright. Judging by the wincing, it wasn't a happy process. 

"Wherever you're going, I suppose," Mark said carefully. Trusting pirates was a bit much, in Mark's opinion. Mark didn't think he should let Eduardo out of his sight, at least; who knew how many people were after him. Dustin had warned him, early on, _there are many reasons to look for a star_.

And Eduardo was giving Sean a grateful smile, because he was clearly too trustful (case in point: the crazy inn lady) so _someone_ had to watch their backs.

Sean smiled. "Good answer," he said. "You're learning."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Any manner of things, I suppose," Sean said. 

"That's cryptic," Eduardo said.

"Yeah, they do that a lot," Mark said. "The Faerie folk. It's annoying."

"You find most things annoying, your opinion doesn't count," Eduardo said, but he sounded mostly like he was joking. Mark was relieved; he didn't know how much more he could apologise, and he supposed saving Eduardo's life had done a lot towards putting him back in his good graces. 

Eventually, they went back up to the upper decks, and Captain Hughes had found a small cabin for them to bunk in. It was small and cramped and smelled faintly of crackling air, and it made Eduardo's hair stand up all over, but it was a place to sleep, and Mark was exhausted. 

When Mark woke up, it was the middle of the night, and Eduardo was staring out the small porthole that served as their window. He was glowing, but dimly, and Mark wondered if, eventually, he'd stop glowing altogether.

He hoped not.

...For his machines' sake, of course.

"Do you sleep, at all?" Mark asked, finally.

"Yes," Eduardo said, not looking away from the window. "Not at night, though."

Mark supposed that made sense. 

"What do you want?" he asked suddenly. "Do you know how to get back?"

"There isn't a way back," Eduardo said. He sounded sad. "Stars fall down; they don't go back."

"There's always a first time," Mark said reasonably. 

Eduardo turned, smiling at him. "That's how you live, isn't it? You don't give up, even if it's impossible."

"You're the one who thought there might be someone up here in the clouds to save us," Mark said.

"That's different," Eduardo said. "That was a matter of hope; this is a matter of reality."

"We're in Faerie, on a flying pirate ship that we got to after falling in a cloud when our magic candle burned out," Mark said. "And you're a talking star with a broken leg and too much hair."

"Even magic has it's limitations," Eduardo said.

"Sometimes, that's just because no one's tried," Mark said. 

Eduardo raised an eyebrow. "Why do you care if I go back, or not?" he asked. "I thought you _needed_ me for something." His voice became bitter, and there was a sneering twist to it. Mark winced.

"I do," he said. "Or I did. I don't know. I didn't know you were a person."

"Yes, well," Eduardo said, turning back to the porthole. "I am."

"Yeah," Mark said, still staring at him. "You are."

***

Mark's hand got better slowly, and it was still stiff and covered in scars, which worried him at first, because he didn't know if he could create his machines if his hands didn't work. He spent three full days sullen and sulking about this, until Eduardo dragged him out of their cabin during a storm to help the crew capture lightning bolts.

"What do you do with them?" Mark asked Captain Hughes (who was just Chris, now, insisting that formalities made him uncomfortable and that the crew mostly ran on a democracy system, anyway) as they stored another flashing bolt into it's specially made container. 

"Sell them," Chris said. "They're popular in spells, potions, medicines—"

"—Put some pep in your step," Sean interrupted, grinning and flicking water out of his eyes.

Chris smiled back, looking sort of hopelessly fond, and Mark blinked before he glanced at Eduardo, who was looking at Chris and Sean with a small, private smile.

"Could you use them as a power source?" Mark asked. "Like electricity?"

"I suppose," Chris said, shrugging. "But electricity is a bit funny, in Faerie."

"And we can't fly beyond the Wall," Sean said. "We've never tried to bring lightning to your world."

Mark gazed at the bolts hungrily. He'd figure it out, he knew it. He was _so close_.

And maybe, he wouldn't need to use Eduardo after all. The thought made him uncomfortable, shivering in the storm. Eduardo was a person, star or not, and Mark was having more and more trouble seeing him as anything else.

***

"Why do you need me?" Eduardo asked one night, sitting next to Mark on the open deck and staring up at the stars. His siblings, Mark remembered.

"Hm?" Mark asked, not really paying attention to anything beyond the way Eduardo's collar gaped open (he looked oddly at home in a pirate's tunic and leggings), or how he shined a bit brighter these days, smiling more and more. 

"You said you needed me," Eduardo said, glancing at Mark, "when we met."

"Yeah," Mark said, ducking his head away. "I'm making these machines… well. It's more like one machine. Connected, all together. The Facebook. It's… like how the trees work," Mark said, remembering. "Sending messages faster than someone can run, maybe even talking to each other across miles. I can make one machine work, for a little while, but it doesn't send the messages fast enough. Or at all. I need a power source, a huge amount of energy."

"Like a star," Eduardo said. 

"Yeah," Mark said.

Eduardo curled his arms around his chest. "Would you need my heart?" he asked quietly.

"If I did, I'd figure out another way," Mark said automatically. "I—I'd figure out something else, Eduardo, I promise. I swear."

Eduardo looked at Mark for a moment, searching his face. "I know, Mark," he said. Mark nodded, jerkily.

"These machines are important to you?" Eduardo asked abruptly.

"Yeah," Mark said. "They can connect people, they can make news travel faster and information more accessible."

"That sounds amazing," Eduardo said. "That sounds really good, Mark." 

"Yeah," Mark said. "I know."

Eduardo chuckled, nudging Mark lightly, before resting his head on Mark's shoulder. Mark sat very still, breathing slowly, as Eduardo glowed warmly next to him.

Eventually, hesitantly, Mark rested his hand on Eduardo's back.

***

One day, as Eduardo was undressing (while Mark wasn't looking, except for how he sort of was), Mark noticed the topaz around the chain around Eduardo's neck.

"What is that?" Mark asked.

Eduardo frowned. "It's what hit me," he said. "I was sitting at the edge of the cloud, just sitting, and out of nowhere this stone just _hits_ me, and I slipped and fell."

"You were sitting on a cloud?" Mark asked, surprised. They were in the clouds now, and on clear nights, they could look up and see Eduardo's siblings sparkling far above them, even now.

"There are clouds among the stars, too," Eduardo said. "Star clouds. It is how we're born. My siblings were all born with me, in the same cloud."

"And you were born at the edge," Mark said. Eduardo laughed.

"No," he said. "I was at the edge, watching."

"Watching Earth?" 

Eduardo shrugged. "I liked it, before. It was nice to watch."

"But not nice to live on."

Eduardo opened his mouth, before pausing, considering. "I hated it at first," he said. "But it has it's perks." 

Eduardo smiled at Mark, and Mark caught his breath. He told himself it was because Eduardo still hadn't put on his shirt.

***

Meals in the galley were always loud and raucous, pirates catcalling and gossiping. Pirates were notorious gossips, Mark was learning.

Mark and Eduardo took their meals with Chris and Sean, and they learned much about the many places in Faerie, all of the fantastic lands and strange people they'd met and seen on their adventures. 

"Once, we met this dwarf," Sean started, and Chris immediately rolled his eyes, snorting.

" _Once_ ," he repeated. "As if we could be that lucky."

"He's not so bad," Sean said, smiling as he ate his bread. 

"He's terrible," Chris said, pointing a fork at Mark in emphasis. "He almost ruined our largest lightning deal, hitting on the daughter of King Atticus."

"And yet, you never kicked him off the ship," Sean said.

"I should have," Chris said darkly. "He was a terrible cook."

Mark tilted his head slightly. "Is he covered in red hair?" Both Sean and Chris raised an eyebrow at Mark.

"You've met Dustin?" Sean asked.

"That does explain why they were on a cloud," Chris said. "That's something only Dustin's brand of trouble would lead to."

Mark opened his mouth to defend his sort-of friend, but then he remembered where he'd gotten the candle. He closed his mouth.

"Exactly," Chris said, shaking his fork again.

***

Chris and Sean never said it outright, but Mark watched them and quietly marvelled at the amount they loved each other. Mark had really only seen his parents in love, and their love was the proper, sedate kind of love, with marriage and children and tending to the farm together. Mark's parents argued and mocked each other like Chris and Sean did, but they didn't make dirty jokes, or flirt obviously, or shove each other out of their seats, or dance in the moonlight while looking into each other's eyes.

"Is that how true love, works, then?" Mark asked out loud, to himself, as he finally glanced away from Chris and Sean dancing.

"Love works in lots of ways," Eduardo said, carefully walking over to Mark, his leg finally mostly healed. "There are passionate loves, and loves at first sight, and momentary loves, and happy loves, and tragic loves, and content loves, and bitter loves, and many other kinds besides. They're all true, in their own way."

"How do you know?" Mark asked.

"I've seen a lot of love, watching," Eduardo said. "I've never felt it, though."

"Yeah," Mark said, mouth dry as he swallowed past a lump in his throat. "Me neither."

***

"My father told me once that my obsession with humans would only bring me pain," Eduardo said. "I suppose he was right."

"Your father?" Mark asked. It was midday, and Eduardo was curled up in his hammock, looking at Mark sleepily. Mark was sitting in his hammock awkwardly, turned so he could see Eduardo.

"The moon," Eduardo said, yawning.

"He was wrong," Mark said. "It's not your fault you fell."

Eduardo shrugged, closing his eyes. "Maybe," Eduardo said. "I'm glad I met you, at least." Before Mark could ask what he meant, Eduardo was asleep.

Mark sat in his hammock, swaying with the rocking ship, and listened to Eduardo breath softly.

***

"We're taking anchor tomorrow," Chris told Mark, as Mark carefully flexed his hand and examined the boxes that held the captured lightning.

"Okay?" Mark said.

"We're still some weeks' walk from the Wall," Chris said. "But it's as close as we can get you."

"Oh," Mark said, before frowning. "I never said we were going to the Wall."

Chris smiled. "No," he said. Mark continued to frown at him as he walked out of the cargo hold. Mark waited a moment, before he quickly got up and followed him, abandoning his examination to check on Eduardo.

Chris and his crew were nice and all, but they were still pirates.

***

They docked at a magnificently gigantic tree, where many other ships floated on the breeze. They said goodbye, Eduardo rather wistfully, and slowly made their way down the carved staircases that crossed every which way inside of the hollowed out tree, leading to little nooks and houses, the town of elves and brownies and humans and dwarves and all manner of people.

Eventually, they reached the ground, and Mark thought it distinctly odd to feel firm grass under his feet. Eduardo looked upwards, clearly sad to be on the ground once again, and Mark remembered that Eduardo hadn't spent much time on Earth at all, and maybe the airship had been as close as he could get to home, now. 

"Do you want to go back?" Mark asked.

Eduardo looked at Mark in surprise. "What? No, I follow you," he said. 

Mark crossed his arms. "You don't have to," he said. "I don't care about some life debt," he continued when Eduardo opened his mouth. "You can go where ever you like."

"Okay," Eduardo said, before gesturing in front of them. "Lead the way, then."

Mark didn't move for a moment, before shrugging and walking forward. Whatever. He'd _tried_.

***

They walked on and on, coming across many interesting villages. There was one that declared Mark was their Hero, based on evidence they could never fully articulate, and Eduardo was too busy laughing at Mark to help him stop them from putting him in a crown and introducing him to every inhabitant of the little Town-Under-Hill.

They stopped at farms (Mark was too suspicious to trust another inn) and payed for their stay with various chores. Eduardo would watch Mark curry horses, until Mark taught him to do it himself. Their clothes became muddy and worn, and Mark's curls grew every which way until Eduardo, laughing, carefully cut it with a pair of shears liberated from one of the many barns they'd slept in on their travel. Mark threatened to cut Eduardo's hair as well, but Eduardo danced out of his reach, shears held overhead.

After Mark's haircut, Eduardo acquired the habit of absentmindedly running his hand through Mark's hair, resting it at the base of Mark's neck. Mark didn't know how aware Eduardo was of this, as he only did it when they were half-asleep, or when Mark cautiously leaned his head against Eduardo's shoulder. Mark neglected to mention it to him, either way.

One night, a group of goblins tried to kidnap Eduardo as they walked across an otherwise unlit glen, and Mark insulted them, their trade, and their ability to see in the dark, until they were confused and angry, some of them stomping off in frustration, others running off to prove their worth. Mark and Eduardo escaped in the chaos, running as fast as they could, eventually slowing when Eduardo started to clutch his leg and wince.

They both doubled over, gasping, before Eduardo started to chuckle.

"How did you know to do that?" Eduardo asked. "Make them angry."

Mark caught his breath. "I didn't," he said finally. Eduardo looked at him for a moment, and then burst into true, full-bodied laughter. Mark froze, caught up in the moment, because it was the first time he'd heard Eduardo really laugh.

"Of course you didn't," Eduardo said, sounding impossibly fond. "You were just being you."

"That does have it's advantages," Mark said, and Eduardo smiled.

***

Mark was gathering apples from a tree, frowning determinedly at a particularly red one, just out of reach, when he heard a rustling directly behind him. He froze, whirling around, expecting anything from Eduardo, to a pack of brownies, to a large black bear (the last one they'd met had been rather nice, actually, and had taught them both which berries were edible and which were not).

Instead, he saw a large and oddly multicoloured bird. 

"Hello," Mark said warily. The bird cocked it's head. Mark knelt down, frowning when the bird didn't move. "Er," he said. "Are you a talking bird?"

The bird chirped at him.

"Alright," Mark said, about to get up again, when he noticed a thin silver chain wrapped around the bird's talon, and caught on the branches of a bush. He sighed, untangling the thread, and looked at the bird. "There you go, then," he said, and stood up.

"Excuse _you_ ," said a man, crashing out from between the trees and pointing at Mark wildly. "Are you _stealing_ my bird?"

Mark looked up. "No," he said.

"I think you are," the man said, glaring at Mark. "I'm going to hex you into next week, except it'll be next week in the dwarven mines of the Vague Mountains, during the rebellion, which is going to prove rather nasty for everyone in a five kilometer radius, especially little bird thieves who dare to steal from a witch."

Mark stared at him. "The Vague Mountains are too far away for that much magic," he said finally.

The witch crossed his arms. "How would you know that?" 

"I guessed," Mark said flatly. He hadn't, but he figured 'I just know' wouldn't be a sufficient answer. 

The witch blinked, and then grinned. "I like you," he said. "Want to be my apprentice?"

"No," Mark said. The man looked visibly put out. "Here's your bird," Mark said, holding the bird out. "Uh, bye, I guess."

He walked back to where Eduardo was napping.

"Wardo, wake up," Mark said, shaking his shoulder.

"Wha?" Eduardo mumbled, frowning at the sun. 

"Something weird happened," Mark said.

"You're going to have to narrow it down, Mark," Eduardo said.

"A witch tried to make me his apprentice."

"There are male witches?" Eduardo asked, stretching.

"Apparently," Mark said.

"Huh. What'd you say?"

"I said, no, obviously. Honestly, Wardo." Mark had started calling Eduardo 'Wardo' a few days ago, and so far, Eduardo hadn't asked him to stop, so. Mark hadn't.

"Ah. And knowing you, you were rude about it, and now we have an angry witch chasing us."

Mark wanted to protest, but. "Probably, yeah."

Wardo sighed. "I can't take you anywhere."

This was largely true, so Mark just gathered their bags and helped Wardo to his feet.

***

Mark and Wardo had only been walking for a few hours when the witch, driving a caravan, caught up to them. The multicoloured bird was chained to the outside of the caravan, and it chirped at them as the witch drove the caravan across the path, forcing them to stop.

"Maybe we should just run around," Wardo suggested.

"Never run off the true path," Mark said. 

"Good plan, smart dude," the witch said, nodding at Mark. "So. You don't want to be my apprentice."

"No," Mark said.

"What if I just hired you?" the witch asked. "Temporarily. We could help each other out."

"How could you help us?" Mark asked.

"Mark," Wardo said.

The witch's lip twitched. "I could give you a lift. I'm headed to the market at the Wall, and you seem to be headed in the same direction. At your current pace, you'll never get there in time."

Mark exchanged a glance with Wardo.

"What would you want to hire us for?" Mark asked.

"A number of things," the witch said. "To help me work my glass flower stall at the market, and an extra set of hands in general on the way there."

"We're just headed to Wall," Mark said. "And we don't want to work for a witch."

"Actually, what he means is—"

"Well, then, I have no use for you," the witch interrupted Wardo, not even looking at him. Wardo scowled.

"We could pay for passage," Mark said.

"I'm not a coach service," the witch said. "You'd have to pay a hefty price for passage on _my_ caravan."

Mark thought about it for a moment, and then remembered that the witch sold glass flowers. Grabbing his much scuffed up pack, he rummaged in the pockets before he carefully brought out the glass flower his father had given to him, at the very start of his journey.

"You said you sell glass flowers?" he asked, holding it up. The witch stilled, narrowing his eyes. The large bird, which was chained to the 

"Where did you get that?" he asked quietly. "Who gave it to you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Mark asked.

"Give it to me," the witch said. "It's _mine_."

"Is it?" Mark asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mark, please don't piss off the witch," Wardo said.

" _Give it to me_."

"Give us safe passage to Wall, where no harm will come to us either directly or indirectly, and we'll arrive in the same manner we are now, all limbs intact, and then let us go free when we arrive, and I'll let you have it."

The bird chirped, and the witch glanced at it before looking back at the flower in Mark's hand.

"I swear on my honour as a witch," the witch said. Mark raised an eyebrow, and Wardo snorted.

The witch sighed. "Fine, I swear on my true name, and the honour of the Goddess."

"I don't like this, Mark," Wardo said. "I don't trust him. Let's just walk." He tugged on Mark's coat.

Mark ignored him. "Alright, then," Mark said, and gave the witch the flower. The witch snatched it away, glancing at Mark suspiciously before holding it protectively against his chest.

"Are either of you even _listening_ to me?" Wardo said, sounding furious. But Mark had to keep an eye on the witch, looking out for any spare spells the witch might use to get around the provisions of the oath. And Mark _was_ listening, but this was sort of more important at the moment.

"I don't know how you got this, or who you are," the witch said, "but I suppose a deal's a deal." Mark crossed his arms. The witch stared back, before sighing. "Fine, fine, get in before I turn you into a dormouse."

Mark smirked, clambering into the caravan and dragging Wardo in behind him.

"Are you sure you don't want to be a witch?" the witch ask Mark. "You have the constitution for it."

"Mark's a good person," Wardo snapped. The witch didn't acknowledge Wardo's comment.

"I'm not interested," Mark said.

"Is there a reason you're ignoring me?" Wardo asked.

"I'm not ignoring you," Mark said.

"I should hope not," the witch said. "My name's Sean," he added.

"The douchey one?" Wardo asked, glaring. Mark frowned at Wardo, but Sean's expression didn't change.

"I really was going to turn you into a dormouse," Sean said brightly. "But you have potential. I'm not convinced I can't make a witch of you yet."

"Good luck with that," Mark said.

"Mark, I don't think Sean can hear me," Wardo said. "Or see me."

"I don't need luck," Sean said. "I'm fantastic, and I can make _you_ fantastic."

"I can see that," Mark said, not looking away from Sean, but nudging Wardo so Wardo knew who he was talking to.

Sean clapped his hands together, rubbing them slightly. "Brilliant," he said, before shutting the door on the caravan, presumably to start driving again.

"What the fuck, Mark," Wardo said, clearly pissed off.

"At least I got us a ride," Mark said. 

"You got yourself a ride, you mean," Wardo said. Mark sighed.

"Wardo, we need him," he said.

"We didn't need him," Wardo said. "We could have just walked."

Mark crossed his arms. He could have explained that they _needed_ to get to Wall during the festival, or else they wouldn't be able to get through, but honestly, Wardo needed to _trust_ him.

" _You're_ welcome to walk," Mark said.

"Fuck you," Wardo said, and it went downhill from there.

***

Wardo's anger and dislike of Sean (which he mentioned loudly, and often, usually whenever Mark was in the middle of speaking to Sean) grew more and more throughout their bumpy and mostly-silent journey. Mark had taken to sitting on the floor of the caravan, staring at the flower rack, and Wardo had taken to sitting on a short stool and pointedly looking out the window. Often, the only noise was the odd bird which chirped and chattered at both of them when it was inside the caravan as well.

Mark, for his part, tried to share his portion of meals with Wardo, even though Wardo would let out a frustrated sigh and say, "I don't _eat_ , Mark."

Usually, he ate it anyway, so Mark considered it a win.

Mostly though, he was being childish and he didn't understand that Mark was just trying to take care of them both, because the faster they got to Wall, the faster Mark could grab his machines (or at least his blueprints) and they could start trying to figure out how to either power the Facebook with Wardo's abilities, or help Wardo home.

Mark was starting to question if Wardo had lost sight of the original plan, and if so, why he was there in the first place. It made him more and more frustrated, and Wardo grew more and more sullen, until one day he just dropped his lunch into the odd bird's cage, and looked smug when the bird pecked at it.

Mark stared at this for a moment, before breaking the stiff silence between them. "You realise that was chicken, right?"

"So?"

"So, you just gave chicken to a bird." Mark watched the growing horrified realization in Wardo's eyes. 

"Do you think she knows?" he asked Mark, whispering.

Mark watched her happily peck away at her meal. "I hope not," he said.

Wardo made a choking noise, and after a moment, Mark realised he was trying not to laugh.

Mark turned to him, and smiled tentatively, and Wardo started giggling helplessly, leaning against Mark's side.

Mark didn't know how to say _I missed this; I missed you_ , so he didn't say anything, and hoped Wardo understood him from the way he slung an arm around Wardo's shoulder. Wardo didn't move away after his giggles subsided, so Mark thought there was a good chance he had.

***

Sean kept trying to cajole Mark into becoming a witch, and Mark even let him talk on and on a few times, to keep him happy (even if it made Wardo frown), but in the end, when the reached the market, he shrugged and said, "Sorry," not sounding sorry at all, as he walked away.

Wardo gazed around them as people were setting up their stalls in the market, absolutely fascinated. Mark, on the other hand, was gazing at Wardo.

Wardo had seemed to lighten up the day after he accidentally contributed to bird cannibalism, but Mark still couldn't shake the question of why Wardo was following him, what he was even doing here. Mark had told him, months ago, that he was free of his promise. And Mark had no idea how to help a star get back into the sky, so he didn't know what Wardo saw in Mark, particularly, that made him useful to be around. 

It was not yet the day of the market, the only day every nine years that people were allowed through the wall (except in Mark's case, and though he didn't quite know why he was beginning to suspect), so they wandered, and Wardo helped various shopkeepers, smiling and laughing, and Mark watched him silently.

Eventually the night grew, and Wardo grew happier and more energetic as the rest of the stall owners wound down. Mark gently led him a little ways away from the market, into a grassy dip beyond the hill where the market was situated. Wardo flopped down comfortably, leaning against the natural incline. Mark quietly slid down next to him, curling his knees up to his chest.

"What's up with you?" Wardo asked, glancing over at Mark. His smile vanished. "Is this still about the witch?"

"No," Mark said. "It's about you." Wardo frowned. 

"Nothing bad," Mark said quickly. "I just—I don't understand why you're here."

"You said you needed me," Wardo said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Mark said, "but you didn't have to come."

"Of course I did," Wardo said, sounding frustrated. "I—Mark. Of course I did." 

"If this is about the life debt—"

"It's not about the life debt, Mark," Wardo said, staring straight into Mark's eyes.

Mark stared back. "I need you," he said quietly.

Wardo looked at him sadly. "Okay, Mark."

"No," Mark said, rubbing a hand across his face. "I—" he reached out, touching Wardo's arm. "I need _you_ , I just need you, Wardo."

Wardo took a sharp breath, leaning over to rest his forehead against Mark's. "Perhaps," he said shakily, "I don't need to find a way back home, after all."

Mark pulled Wardo in to kiss him, dragging him down to the grass to show just how much Mark approved of that plan.

***

When Mark woke up the next morning, Wardo was curled around him, and the sun had dawned bright and clear, a wonderful day for the market. Mark glanced over at Wardo, who was still sleeping, a smile on his face. It was hard to tell in the sunlight, but Mark was pretty sure he was still glowing. Mark raised a hand, hesitantly, to brush a curl out of Wardo's face.

"Oh," Mark said quietly. And in an instant, he knew exactly what he had to do. Grabbing his beaten up pack, he pulled out the rusty pair of shears that Wardo had used to cut his hair weeks ago. Carefully, making sure he didn't wake Wardo up, he cut a lock of his Wardo's overgrown and ridiculous hair and putting it in his pocket. Mark smoothed his hand against Wardo's head, biting his lip.

Then he got up, shouldered his pack, and walked towards the village of Wall.

***

Mark's family's farm didn't look any different than the last time he'd seen it. He thought it would maybe look smaller, or quaint and homey. After weeks exploring the world and sleeping on the ground, he expected some sort of emotional reaction to the home where'd grown up, the world he'd known for most of his life.

Instead, it just looked familiar and comfortable, and Mark easily sidestepped the chickens roaming in front of the house like he always did, and was about to jiggle the door and check open with his hip like usual, before he paused and, awkwardly, knocked.

The door flew open, and Randi stared at him for a moment before throwing her arms around him. Mark stiffened, patting her back awkwardly. Randi laughed, but it sounded sort of oddly broken.

"Um," Mark said, "hi."

" _Hi_ , he says," Randi said, stepping back and sniffling. "As if he hasn't been gone for months, and doesn't look like a vagrant besides."

Mark glanced down. "I probably don't look much worse than usual." Randi laughed, a real laugh this time.

"True," she said. "Come on, come in, we're just sitting down for breakfast."

"I need to—" Mark started, but Randi shook her head. 

"Food," she insisted, pulling on his arm. "Family." Reluctantly, Mark followed her inside. There was a scramble of food and talk, all of Mark's sisters vying for his attention, and Mark's mother making pointed comments about Mark's clothing and hair. Mark's father just watched most of the proceedings, and when Mark finally sat down enough to eat (and carefully set aside a portion of his food), he nodded at Mark thoughtfully.

Mark nodded back just as thoughtfully.

"Son," Ed said. "I see you've returned."

"Yeah," Mark said, staring up at his dad. "Dad," he started, before pausing, not knowing how to continue.

"It's true," Ed said, sighing.

"What's true?" Donna asked, bouncing up to the table once again.

"I'm from Beyond the Wall," Mark said. 

"What?" Arielle asked, frowning, eyes flickering between her parents.

"Ah," Mark's mother said. "Yes, that's right. A tad, at least. You're also from Wall."

"Half and half," Ed clarified.

"Which half?" Randi asked, putting her hands on her hips."

"Your father," Karen said.

"Dad!" the girls yelled, shocked, but Mark just stared at his porridge. 

"How did you find out?" Randi asked Mark, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Mark shrugged her off.

"He said, when I left."

"Yes," Ed said.

"Also, I'm magical." Mark wrinkled his nose. "A bit. I won't be a witch or anything."

"Really?" Arielle asked. "Do some magic, then."

"I can't, here," Mark said, because he'd tried to close his eyes and locate France or London or the lands across the sea, but he couldn't, not like he could in Faerie.

"Well, that's boring," Donna said.

"I guess," Mark said.

"Are you going back?" Mark's mother asked quietly. Mark glanced up at her, and the sad smile on her face.

"Yes," he said, ignoring the increased yelling of his sisters. He kept looking at his mother, before suddenly getting up and hugging her. "Thanks, mom," he muttered.

"Oh, Mark," Karen said, sounding fond and exasperated, but she hugged him back, just as tight.

Mark said his goodbyes to his sisters and father as well, and it was another hour of tears and well wishes before Mark, dry-eyed but looking distinctly uncomfortable, was allowed to leave.

He quickly made his way to his machines, gathering up the scraps of paper that held all of his designs, and his tools and some scrap metal he hadn't yet been able to use. Stuffing it all in his bag, he eventually turned to his mostly complete machines, sitting right next to each other. Taking a deep breath, he reached into his pocket for Wardo's hair.

Instead, he pulled out a handful of glittery dust.

Mark stared at it, and then at his machine, before turning and running flat out for the wall.

***

Eduardo woke up, yawning, the happiest he'd ever felt on Earth so far, and reached out for Mark. Mark wasn't there, and Eduardo blinked his eyes open, wondering if he was already up and tending to a fire or some such. Perhaps there was breakfast to eat, though the Moon knew that Mark was a terrible cook, even if he did try.

Smiling at thought, Eduardo glanced around. Mark wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Mark?" he called out.

Nothing.

A sense of dread started to settle in Eduardo's gut, and he scrambled up, over the hill. Mark was gone, and so was their bag. The market was bustling around him, people calling out prices and describing fantastical wares. Looking around, he couldn't see a single mop of curly brown hair on the head of a serious-faced and rude little human.

Eduardo walked through the market briskly, glancing every which way. Eventually, he had to conclude that Mark wasn't in the market. Which meant he'd either been kidnapped, or…

Or he'd gone to Wall.

Eduardo closed his eyes. He didn't know why Mark would go to Wall without him. Unless Mark didn't want him there for some reason. 

Abruptly, Eduardo was furious. He was _sick_ of Mark's random hot and cold act, treating Eduardo like he loved him one moment, and ignoring him the next. Did Mark think that he could just leave Eduardo behind without warning and that would be okay? Did he think Eduardo would be _content_ with that?

Turning on his heel, Eduardo stormed out of the market, purposefully making his way to the wall. He had almost reached the opening in the wall when a large black carriage, pulled by four horses, pulled up in front of him.

"What?" Eduardo asked, as a stooped old woman jumped down.

"You're not getting away from me _this_ time," she snarled, and Eduardo opened his mouth to respond, but the old woman rose a hand, and Eduardo froze, everything feeling heavy and dark. He struggled to keep his eyes open, staring at this women in confusion, and he thought he heard shouting, but he didn't know if that was the confusion in his head, or not.

And then, he didn't know anything at all.

***

" _Wardo_ ," Mark yelled, shoving people out of the way as he tried to get to the gap in time. He recognised Cameron's carriage, even if he didn't recognise the woman riding in it, and even though he screamed again, trying to run faster, to warn him, Wardo crumpled to the ground.

" _No_ ," Mark said furiously, finally making it to the gap. "No, you _can't have him_."

The old woman snorted, getting back into the carriage and dragging Wardo up into the seat next to her.

"No!" Mark yelled, running again, but the horses took off, galloping down the path, and even though Mark ran after them as hard as he could, eventually he had to stop, groaning, to throw up most of his breakfast. 

He wiped a hand across his mouth, furious, eyes burning, because he had been _right there_ , and now Wardo was gone, was in danger or _dead_ and it was his fault. Again.

Mark stood there, doubled over, and gasping, and wished, desperately, for a miracle.

"Hey, dude, what the fuck was that?"

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Mark said, glancing up, but no. There stood Sean Parker, staring at Mark looking a strange mixture of concerned and amused.

"Are you like, sad and shit?" Sean asked. "Depressed you didn't join me in becoming a witch, huh?"

"No," Mark snapped. "Go away."

Suddenly, and rather surprisingly, a woman marched up behind Sean and slapped him upside the head.

"Ow!"

"I quit," the woman said, sounding incredibly smug. She was also carrying a large frying pan.

"You can't quit," Sean said, turning to her and rubbing his head. "You're my servant! Forever!" He glanced around her. "How the hell did you get out of your chain?"

"The spell broke," the woman said. "I am no longer your servant, and no longer a bird."

"You were the bird?" Mark asked. 

"Yes," the woman said. "But now I am myself."

"The spell can't break," Sean said, frowning.

"'You shall be my slave no matter what you do, until the child of a bird falls in love with a child of the moon'," she said. "The terms have been fulfilled. I am free."

"What terms?" Sean asked, sounding incredulous. "I just made that up on the spot! Drunk! Because it rhymed and sounded appropriate!" 

"I don't care why you said it," the woman said. "I'm free." She hefted the frying pan threateningly. "Also, that didn't rhyme, you're a terrible witch."

"Ah, come on!"

The woman took a step forward, shifting the grip on the pan.

"Shit," Sean said, raising his hands, and backing up, glancing between Mark and the woman. "You're on your own, dude," he said, before tripping backwards and half-running away.

"He really is the douchey one," Mark said. 

"Oh, yes," the woman said. "Hello, by the way, Mark. I'm Lady Amelia, of Stormhold."

"Are you related to Lord Cameron?"

"Yes," Lady Amelia said. "He is my brother."

"I have bad news," Mark said, flat, but she waved a hand at him.

"It's alright. It's too be expected, really. Though I do suppose I am a bit sad," she said with a sigh. "He was always the nicest of all of us."

"So," Mark said. "You're _not_ a bird, then?"

The woman shrugged. "I suppose I am a bird, in some ways." Mark stared at her, waiting. She smiled slightly.

"Yes," she said. "I am your mother."

"Weird," Mark said. 

"It is, a bit," Lady Amelia said. "But before we dwell too long on the facts, let us save your moonchild love."

Mark wrinkled his nose at the ridiculous-sounding epithet. "You can just call him Eduardo."

"Really?" Lady Amelia looked amused. "I thought his name was 'Wardo'."

Before Mark could protest, she had already grabbed his hand, pulling him down the path where the carriage had disappeared.

"We'll never get there in time," Mark said dully.

"We could steal Sean's caravan," she suggested. Mark tilted his head, considering it.

"We—" he started, but he was interrupted by the shouts of an irritated chariot-driver behind them on the path.

"Move out of the goddamn way!"

Mark glanced back, and blinked. "Cameron?" Lady Amelia whirled around.

" _Tyler?_ "

"Amy?"

"Mark," Mark said.

The man, who looked exactly like Cameron, but was presumably Tyler, stopped his chariot. 

"I thought you were dead," Tyler said, staring at Lady Amelia.

"Nope," Lady Amelia said.

"Are you guys related?" Mark asked.

"Funny," Tyler said. "Who are you, again?"

"Tyler," Lady Amelia started, interrupting Mark as he opened his mouth, "are you going to retrieve the topaz?"

"What?" Mark asked, frowning.

"Yes," Tyler said. "But first, I must avenge Cameron's death. Someone _else_ dared to kill him."

"She was this older-looking woman," Mark said. "Black greying hair, brown eyes, evil, kinda crazy."

"She is the Witch Queen Christy, and she ages with the use of her borrowed magic," Lady Amelia said. "You're in luck, we are also following her."

"She was the old lady who kidnapped Wardo," Mark asked, but it wasn't really a question. He closed his eyes, trying to get a handle on his confusion, fear, and anger. She'd already tried to kill Wardo once, and Mark didn't have any more magic candles, this time.

"We'll save him, Mark," Lady Amelia said firmly. "Tyler will give us a ride."

"I will?" Tyler said, sounding displeased.

"Yes," Amelia said. "We're family, after all."

Neither Mark nor Tyler looked particularly thrilled with this realisation, but they piled (rather uncomfortably; chariots weren't the most roomy of vehicles) into Tyler's chariot. And so for revenge, love, familial obligation, and a varying mix of the three, the odd family awkwardly set off down the path after Christy and Wardo.

***

Mark was clutching the side of Tyler's glorified horse cart, eyes closed and entire focus on the _knowing_ in his soul that Wardo was right ahead of them, still alive, and they were gaining on him.

Suddenly, abruptly, Wardo stopped moving, and Mark pressed his lips together, eyes snapping open. Lady Amelia put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure he's fine," she assured Mark.

"Right," Mark said.

"He has a few tricks up his sleeve yet," she said.

"He had better not kill the witch before we arrive," Tyler said darkly. It reminded Mark of Cameron, when he'd been talking about love and heartache. Mark frowned, slightly, a question forming, but he decided against asking. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

"There," Lady Amelia said, pointing, and Mark could see the black carriage through the trees.

Mark leaned forward, practically almost falling out of the chariot, and called out, "Wardo!"

Tyler reigned in the horse, as Mark stumbled out of the cart, running down the path and skidding to a halt when he saw the knife pressed against Wardo's neck. Wardo was standing very still, pressed against the carriage, gaze flicking between Christy and Mark.

"That's right," Christy said triumphantly. "His heart is _mine_. I won't have you interfering again."

"I can't believe I liked you," Wardo said. Christy snarled.

"Kill him if you like, I don't care," Tyler said, striding over to them. "I am here to regain the honour of my family, and demain payment for sins against my dearest brother."

"I already killed you once," Christy said dismissively. "Die again, I don't care." 

"I'm not—" Tyler started, but Christy waved her a hand, and Tyler froze, choking and struggling for a moment, before sagging to the ground. Mark stepped away from his body slightly.

Two steps to the side and one step Beyond, Tyler cleared his throat, annoyed. "I hate witches," he said, but of course to the living he simply sounded like a bird cawing, far off. 

"I hear that," Cameron said, his voice the rustling of a mouse in the underbrush, smiling at Tyler. Tyler smiled back.

"I'm sorry I didn't avenge you," Tyler said, and the wind rustled. 

"It's okay," Cameron said, and the horse hitched to Tyler's chariot nickering softly. "I forgive you. For everything." He not-quite-touched Tyler's arm lightly.

"You guys are just as weird dead as when you were alive," Divya said, sounding incredibly put upon. In the realm of the living, Christy's carriage creaked slightly.

"Shut up, Divya," Tyler said, throwing an arm around his shoulder, seemingly unconcerned with how he was the reason Divya was dead in the first place. Divya sighed, and the wind rustled, and Amelia was gingerly stepping around the body of her dead brother, completely unaware of her siblings' ghosts.

"I suppose that was inevitable," Amelia said. She didn't sound very broken up about it, to Mark.

"Let Wardo go," Mark said, not very convincingly, because it wasn't like that ever worked in penny dreadfuls either.

"The star's heart is mine," Christy said. "You can't have it."

"What if I gave it to him?" Wardo asked suddenly. "You can't have it if I've already given it away." Wardo wasn't quite looking at Mark, but his words rang true and Mark had trouble swallowing past a lump in his throat.

Christy snorted. "That only works if he truly accepts your heart," she said. 

"I do," Mark said quietly. 

"Mark," Wardo said, sounding… sort of desperate and amazing and Mark _really_ wanted this witch gone, already.

"You _can't_ ," Christy said, outraged, and she threw her hand out at Mark. Mark flinched, eyes darting towards Wardo, a last _sorry_ on his lips, but. Nothing happened. Mark frowned slightly, and continued to breathe.

"No!" Christy screamed.

"You're out of power," Lady Amelia said. "And the star is useless to you." 

Christy, now an almost impossibly ancient-looking woman, dropped the knife, crumpling to the ground. Wardo stumbled away, hurrying towards Mark and hugging him tight. Mark buried his head in Wardo's shoulder, breath ragged. 

"I could take revenge on you, for the murder of two of my brothers, and probably many other crimes besides," Lady Amelia said, "but you have failed in your task to retrieve the star, and facing your sisters will be punishment enough." Lady Amelia smiled. It was not a nice smile. "They are much more inventively cruel than I could ever be." 

"True enough," Tyler said, one of Christy's horses snorting softly, and Cameron and Divya nodded in agreement. 

Lady Amelia glanced at Mark and Wardo, who were both staring at her warily. "Come on, boys," she said gently. "Let's go."

In the in-between, Cameron glanced at his brothers. "Advice we should take, I think," he said.

"Who will inherit the Stormhold, though?" Divya asked.

Tyler rolled his eyes. "Don't be a fool, Divya," he said. "The answer is obvious."

"There's only one choice, really," Cameron agreed. Divya glanced at the retreating backs of the three surviving enemies of the witch, and then shrugged.

"I suppose," he said. 

And with that, they were gone, completely and truly.

***

Mark hadn't let go of Wardo's hand since they left the witch queen crying next to the chariot with it's lone horse, electing instead to take Christy's carriage (since it had, after all, been the carriage of Stormhold, so they were really reappropriating Lady Amelia's own property).

"So what now?" Wardo asked finally, brushing his free hand through Mark's hair. Mark was beginning to think Wardo actually _did_ do that on purpose. 

"The topaz," Lady Amelia said, and Wardo's eyebrows furrowed. Not that Mark could see, at the angle he was sitting, but he could tell when Wardo fished in his shirt and held out a chain with the familiar topaz that was the reason Mark and Wardo had met in the first place.

"This topaz?" he asked, and yup, that was definitely Wardo's confused and slightly irritated voice.

"The topaz that indicates the true Lord of Stormhold," Lady Amelia said. "It's Mark's."

"What?" Mark asked, sitting up straight.

"You are my son," Lady Amelia said. "The last male of Stormhold."

"Wait, this is your mother?" Wardo asked. 

"She's the bird," Mark explained. 

"What bird?"

"Sean's bird."

"I am my _own_ bird, thank you," Lady Amelia said, arch.

"Oh," Wardo said. "So, the chicken…?"

"Was quite delicious, thank you."

Wardo was quiet for a moment. "I honestly don't know if the bird being a person makes that better or worse," he said. Mark had to agree.

"Regardless," Lady Amelia said, "you should give the topaz to Mark, and we will return to the Stormhold—"

"No," Mark said firmly. Lady Amelia frowned at him. "I'm not going to become the Lord of Stormhold."

"But—"

"You're the last child of the previous Lord, yeah?" Mark asked.

"Well, yes," Lady Amelia said.

"Then you should do it."

"Mark—"

Wardo pulled off the topaz and held it out to Lady Amelia. "I don't see why not," he said. "I was supposed to give this to whomever asks for it first. There wasn't a gender requirement."

Lady Amelia stared at Mark. Mark stared back, and eventually she sighed. "Oh, alright, then." She reached out, taking the topaz and slipping it around her neck. It glowed once, brightly, before settling against her chest. 

"It looks good," Wardo said.

"I won't be the Lady of Stormhold forever," she warned Mark. Mark shrugged.

"Have more kids," he suggested.

"That won't work," Lady Amelia said. "They'll just try to find and kill you. It's a family tradition," she explained.

Mark sighed, frustrated. "Fine," he said. "I'll come back, I suppose. Eventually."

"Come back from where?" Lady Amelia asked, confused. Mark glanced at Wardo, and Wardo smiled slightly.

"From wherever we want to go," Wardo answered.

***

So Lady Amelia became the Lady of Stormhold, and ruled with the grace and dignity that the people of the Stormhold looked for in a leader. And if they were all secretly relieved that their new leader wasn't one of Lord Peter's various sons, well. It wasn't anything Lady Amelia wasn't also thinking to herself as she carefully settled disputes, lead her armies against the the evil nations to the North, and created prosperity for her people.

Meanwhile, Mark and Wardo went on many adventures, in the air, and the sea, and across the land. They argued constantly, but loved each other even more constantly, and Mark got better at apologising (starting with his impromptu trip to Wall without informing Wardo). They saw Dustin again, and Dustin nodded, sagely, saying, "A lover after all," before Mark smacked him upside the head.

Most importantly, they were together, and Eduardo glowed all the more brightly, and they lived happily ever after. 

(And, eventually, Mark invented a solar powered computer.)

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to [Tamara](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LilaKane/pseuds/ActuallyCrowley), who very thoroughly beta'd this (and wrote the most hilarious comments) despite the fact that all I said was 'please make sure this makes sense'. She's the best, guys. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Please don't sue me for 600 million dollars. Also, most of the cleverness in here was pretty much Neil Gaiman, which you can tell because it gets significantly less funny and cool whenever I go obviously off-script.


End file.
